Say hello to the reject.

So, I really didn’t think I’d be writing about it if I didn’t make it… but if I had made it, I’d definitely be writing about it if for no other reason than to say, “Look at me!  I am soooo hot!”  But, I think it’s important to be real (especially in 2010… a new decade always calls for a renewed dedication in the quest of all things real and genuine, or something like that).  So, keeping 2010 in mind, and my ever-present interest in being real with all ya’ll, here goes nothing:

I am a Wilhelmina reject.

It’s true.  I just finished a 24-hour jaunt to NYC to
a) become a model and
b) visit my friend Ashley who now works at O Magazine!

a) didn’t so much work out but b) did!

Backstory: I’ve thought about / slightly pursued modeling in the past.  And by pursued, I mean gone to an agency and had them say something like, “You’re-tall-so-learn-the-runway-walk-and-come-back-in-a-bit-for-your-portfolio-to-be-shot.”   At which point I would go home full of vim and vigor, strap on a pair of heels, practice for about 20 minutes, and give up.

The runway walk is not easy.

Then, on average, two years would pass and I might get a renewed interest in being a model.  But, as a 25-year old, I am old for modeling.  Who knew at 25 you’d be too old for anything?  But it’s true.  Wilhelmina cut-off for open call is 25, so, as some sort of last ditch effort, I hopped on a Bolt Bus, left my inhibitions and family in Boston, and trudged (not so much trudged–I wore pretty heels) up to Wilhelmina on Park Avenue to burst out of the elevator singing, “Heeerrrreeee I am!”

(You will soon see that it would’ve been completely misguided and hilarious if I had done that.)

What actually happened was that I sheepishly, amidst 15 other girls doing the same thing, handed them my little sheet with my measurements, age, all that good stuff, and a few photos taken by a photographer awhile back, to then sit in the waiting room with all the other aspiring and perspiring model wannabes.

We waited.

About six (seriously, that’s it) minutes went by and a man entered saying, “If I call your name, you don’t fit what Wilhelmina is looking for right now.”  Somewhere between the fifth and tenth name, mine popped in there.  “Screw you, Wilhelmina!  You don’t know what you’re missing!!” I yelled at the guy, then slapped him across the face.

In reality, I sadly grabbed my pictures along with the other rejects, and got on the elevator to leave while the non-rejects said, “Don’t let the elevator hitcha’ on your way out, suckas!!”

But here’s the thing.  The few that stayed were soooo not the ones I would’ve picked.  Seriously.  Not just saying it because I’m bitter.  Okay, I am a little bitter–not cause I wasn’t picked–but because based on only a few pictures–absolutely no real-life contact–I wasn’t picked.  What happened to a good old-fashioned hello and looksy-up-and-down?  I could’ve charmed them with my firm handshake and a little exaggerated swagger as I clicked my way to their office in my heels to talk about my potential future paycheck.

But alas, it wasn’t meant to be.  So, I’m letting you in on my sad rejection.  I’m not sure I’m going to entirely give up though, so maybe there’ll be more news in my future.  Maybe a Boston agency–doesn’t quite roll off the tongue like Wilhelmina, Elite, or Ford–but NYC just wasn’t meant to be.  Tear.

Still, I said it once and gosh darnit, I’ll say it again……. screw you, Wilhelmina!

{If a Wilhelmina agent somehow happens upon my blog, and decides I am what they’re looking for, I take back both “screw you’s.”}

For the record, it was sooooo nice to get home to my totally supportive husband who has been so full of pep-talks for me (“Lots of famous models have had rejections before they made it!  Don’t give up, Bridget!”) and our totally comfortable bed.  I really like the guy.  And our bed.

{I think the pep talks are all coming from this pipe dream he has of his wife being a lingerie model.  I dunno, I’m just sayin’…}

But, stay tuned and I’ll have a few pictures of the fun that was had before this sad little state of affairs took place.